


Routine Checkup

by korcarihare



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Hair Pulling, M/M, affectionate tone, anders as dom, dunno if tagging all of this is necessary but!, hawke as sub, light dominance wordplay, light restraint/soft bondage (held in place with hands), may as well!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korcarihare/pseuds/korcarihare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders and Hawke steal a moment in Anders's clinic and put their backs into making the most of it.  M/M explicit, light dominance themes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Routine Checkup

“I guess this is where we part ways. You don’t want to join me in The Gallows, I’m sure,” Hawke said. His sad eyes undermined the cheerful lilt in his voice. Anders did not laugh, he did not smile, he simply shook his head. Hawke’s smile faded and he cuffed the ground with his boot.

“Listen–Merril and Isabella are still waiting for you, right?” Anders asked.

“Yes, though I suppose I might have a few moments. Another Coterie barker is shouting about someone’s assets being auctioned off again and you know how Isabella gets about that.”

“Right, yes, that gives us about ten, twenty minutes then?” Anders said, picking at the hem of his coat. His eyes danced wickedly around his clinic and settled on the door to the herb room. “You want a quick one, then?”

“Anders!” Hawke gasped, fluttering his hand to his chest. “Anders, this is a place of healing!”

“Yes, right, and what we’re doing is somehow the opposite of that?”

“No, not usually, but you don’t know, I might be in one of those moods again.”

“Good, then we’re in a spot where I can patch you right up after. What do you say?” Anders traced his fingers along Hawke’s jaw and smiled softly. His hand outlined Hawke’s neck and rested on his collarbone. Hawke made a few theatrical humming sounds, cupped his chin in his hand, looked pensive, knitted his brow. Anders scoffed and grabbed Hawke’s shirt collar, yanked it roughly and pulled him closer, kissed him, bit his lip, grasped it between his teeth, dug in and met the resistance of soft flesh. Their hips ground against each other’s for a moment, they felt their cocks strain for each other through their clothes. Hawke whimpered. Anders led him into the store room.

The door slammed behind them and kicked up a cloud of dust that settled on Anders, his body pressing Hawke up against the wall, his back to Anders and his impossibly firm, round ass pressed up against Anders’s cock. Anders pressed his hips up against him til he felt them ache, grinding with his fingers knit through Hawke’s hair, whispering throaty promises and growling primal need. Hawke gasped and panted, eyes heavy-lidded, small whining sounds punctuating each rough press of Anders’s hips.

“Please,” he hissed. Anders snarled. “Please, Anders, please use me, Anders…”

“Use?” Anders purred, “Hawke, that is such a strong word.”

“I mean it!” he choked. His voice was thick with need. “I mean it, Anders, I swear on the Maker’s throne I mean it!”

Anders loosed the threads of his pants and let them drop carelessly. He hooked his thumbs over the edge of Hawke’s pants and kissed him softly on the ear as he worked them slowly and luxuriantly over his smooth ass. He fumbled in his coat for a small vial of a thick, opalescent liquid that he drizzled over his throbbing cock and worked into a slight lather with careful, indulgent strokes. “Ready then, love?”

“Please, Anders, please quit drawing this out and just ride me?”

Anders laughed and bit Hawke’s earlobe. “Of course, my Champion, anything for you,” he said, easing the head of his cock inside of Hawke’s warm, eager body. “Just one quick reminder, though?” he continued, still just barely inside of his lover.

“Maker, Anders, what is it?”

“I said ‘use’ was a strong word,” he answered, driving himself into Hawke in one clean, rough thrust, burying his length completely without a moment between his words and Hawke’s sudden, gasping, clawing reaction. He swept his hips back and withdrew almost completely, held, and plunged back in. His hips hammered against Hawke’s ass as he quickened his pace, his fingers gripping Hawke’s hair and pulling his head back and to the side so that his hazy eyes could meet with Anders’s confident grin.

Anders’s free hand snaked across Hawke’s hip and found his cock as it bobbed violently with each of Anders’s relentless thrusts. He cupped Hawke’s cock with his hand and cricked his fingers just so, ensuring that with each of Hawke’s stabbing, desperate thrusts he would be touched in just the way he always loved, the way that never failed to make his knees quake, with Anders only having to hold steady and Hawke only having to move with the knowledge of what his body craved.

Their rhythm jerked and twitched and writhed off-tempo. Anders let go of Hawke’s hair and placed his palm in the small of Hawke’s back, holding him against the wall. He dove in, eased back, slid in, recoiled back, his hips moving up and down, grinding circular, thrusting angular. Hawke was swept up in its tidal force and floated down on its eddies of pleasure. His hands slapped and clawed at the walls, traveled down his waist to grip his cock instinctively, were flustered and repelled by Anders’s hands already weaving his body into a tapestry of hedonic ecstasy.

“Anders…Anders, I think I might…” Hawke said, his voice punctuated by soft moans, the beat of Anders’s rhythm conducting his words. Anders moved his mouth to speak, to encourage him, but his speech was lost and his body picked up the slack, his hips driving his cock deep inside of Hawke, grinding deep and slow and soft as his hand gently coaxed Hawke over the edge. Hawke pressed himself firmly against Anders, his eyes closed, his mouth moving in a silent, urgent prayer.

Anders bit Hawke’s shoulder and clasped down, his moans muffled by his lover’s skin, his cock twitching and pulsing with each jet he released in the throes of his climax. Hawke cried out, the need for silence lost and forgotten as he found his release, his hips pressed against Anders’s palm, his urgent rhythms easing to a slow, peaceful beat as Anders draped his arms around his waist. They rocked together for a few moments, Anders’s lips pressed against his shoulder, resting in the center of the marks he had left with his teeth.

“You might want me to–”

“No, not yet. I’ll ask you to heal it when we’re back in Hightown. I’d like to keep it for now,” Hawke said. Anders laughed and kissed his shoulder again.

“You’re the boss. See you at home, then?”

“See you at home.” They kissed and smoothed each other’s rumpled clothing, lingering for far too long in each other’s eyes before they parted ways.


End file.
